


Resolution

by xof1013



Category: Queer as Folk (UK)
Genre: First Time, Humor, M/M, Post-Canon, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-28
Updated: 2010-08-28
Packaged: 2017-10-11 07:30:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/109951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xof1013/pseuds/xof1013
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tired, cold and suffering through tacky-dom = how Stuart determines to get his Vince and have him too, on a particular night on the road through the New World.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Resolution

"Resolution"  
by xof

January 1, 2006

 

"Bleeding hell, would you look at this place!" Stuart's voice echoed in the room as they both stood in the open doorway, gaping at the interior of their night's accommodation.

Blinking at the cheap gaudiness before them, Vince's response took a moment to come. "Sorry, can't. I think I've been struck chintz-blind."

Stuart shivered visibly in horrified distress, "It looks like the 70's just exploded all over the walls and bed." He didn't know what was worse – the décor of wood paneled walls, green threadbare carpet and orange/brown flowered curtains and bedspread; or the fact that they were stuck in the middle of fucking nowhere, forced to stay at the only – 'god, who'd ever have thought Stuart would be lowered to *this*' – MOTEL that they'd found in a hundred mile radius, without a clue as to where they were headed to next.

Not that Stuart was going to bring up the being-lost issue again, since it *had* been him who threw out their map hours back. A tendency he had been prone too even back home in England, but one that hadn't ever been so glaringly as bad an idea as it had proven today. But who could have imagined how fucking *huge* the mid-western United States truly was until you found yourselves in the mist of it with the bright idea of driving back East cross-country?

Glaring over his shoulder at Vince, Stuart privately thought – not for the first time since their trip behind the wheel had begun – why didn't anyone, no fuck that – why didn't VINCE ever stop him?

That day. *The* day – what seemed like ages ago – that they'd been lounging around their posh hotel in L.A., relaxing after their flight from New York, came back to prod him in a 'not-so-pleasant-and-with-no-tingly-aftereffects' kind of way. The day Stuart had turned to see Vince flipping channels on the telly, grinning as some old movie flashed on screen showing the middle of a gunfight in Tombstone or some such place. The light in his friend's eyes, the little boy excitement there had sparked Stuart's latest and up-for-grabs greatest idea to date – seeing America from behind the wheel, stopping where they wanted, no timetables or deadlines – just the two of them in a Jeep, seeing what there was to see.

"No, absolutely no. I am *not* sleeping here. I'll be cursed with the bad-taste itchies for life!" Stuart fumed, knowing even as he said it that there wasn't any other place to stay. They were in the middle of a desert for goodness sake; and who the hell knew deserts equal fucking COLD once the sun went down? As his body was quick to remind him as the wind whipped at their backs through the still opened door.

Seeing Stuart shivering, Vince shook his head – being the one who was quicker at accepting being the butt of fate's sense of humor – and gave Stuart a shove further into the room. "Turn on the heater; I'll be right back." He shut the door, making a quick sprint to the Jeep to grab one of their bags. And grabbing the blanket they'd stored in the back for a variety of reasons – quick naps as the other drove, or a random (and begrudgingly enjoyed) picnic or two. King-sized plush flannel, soft and in a vibrant blue – he rolled it up, tucking it under his arm as he lugged the bag strap up on his opposite shoulder and returned to the room.

A room that wasn't one bit warmer than it was outside, shite. And one now empty of a certain Irishman. "Stuart?"

Voice calling out from the door opposite the bed, Stuart answered back. "In here."

Shrugging, Vince figured his friend was in the loo – which would give him time to get the room to some sort of rights. Finding the radiator hadn't even kicked in, he swore loudly. Leave it to Stuart not to know how to treat a temperamental heater, considering that it wasn't HIM who'd lived in a rundown flat for forever and an age. Stuart's places had never lacked for central heat and air, no matter that more than half of England was lacking on that front – fanning themselves in summer and again even in winter, thanks to the glory of overly aggressive radiant heat.

A little, ok – a lot, of manhandling later, the stubborn radiator began to rumble to life. Wiping his hands on his jeans, Vince tossed the top cover off the bed – pleased to see that at least the sheets were white, and clean. He spread the blanket over it and tucked in the ends, hoping it would do to cocoon in their body heat once they both got undercover. His mind going, not for the first time – more like the ten-thousandth, to one of a volume of fantasy images of things the two of them could be doing to heat things up; he gave his head a shake, knowing it wasn't something he needed to be dwelling on considering that even after all this time together on their own, they were still just friends. Or as *just* as two friends could be who touched as often as they did, and who slept together cuddled up in the same bed practically every night.

"Vince!" Stuart called out, pulling the other man back to the present.

Crossing to the door, Vince asked, "Yeah, what?"

"Come in here, that's what." Stuart snapped back.

Vince cracked the door open, getting a face full of steam before he entered and shut the door behind him. The bathroom was tiny – and so very thankfully warm; the floor covered with Stuart's clothing as the sound of running water met Vince's ears. Unsuspecting, Vince turned towards the shower and froze; staring at the vision that was Stuart Alan Jones naked and wet, standing behind a transparent, hanging excuse for a shower curtain.

"Stuart! What are you…" Vince was quick to shut his mouth, thinking anything he could have said at that moment would have been more dictated by his dick than his brain. Fuck, but the man was gorgeous. Even standing with his back turned to Vince, only his arse on display – he was the most beautiful man Vince had ever chanced to see.

Course he was biased, heart-over-head – but still, oh my god. Perfect.

"Vince?! Are you listening?" Stuart was looking over his shoulder, grinning – the bastard.

"Wha…. I mean, course. Course I am. What is it?" Vince stumbled over his words as his face heated.

"Towel, yeah? Must be in the cupboard by the door." When Vince turned to leave, Stuart called after, "And sweatpants, jumper. Oh and socks! Dodgy heater's busted."

Vince grumbled back, "Slave driver, that's you. Twat," even as he went to do as asked, but not before throwing another look at Stuart's bum when the man turned his head back around. Grabbing the closest thing to a decent towel that he could find, and then Stuart's clothes – Vince returned, looking down at the floor and saying, "I got the radiator working, but it'll be slow going before it's warm in there."

Not that Stuart heard all of what he had to say, considering right at the end the man started cursing and jerking at the shower knobs, "Fuck, fuck! That's freezing!"

"Oi! What about mine?" No shower for Vince until morning, most like. Anger taking over his intention of averting his eyes, Vince glared at Stuart as the man shivered under the last falling rain of cold water. And he kept looking as Stuart threw back the curtain and reached out for the towel, dripping and looking miserable. But still naked, Vince's dick was quick to remind him as it hardened at the sight. Naked and full frontal. Fancy that.

"Sodding hell, it's gonna fall off if you don't give me the damn towel. Come on." Stuart's words didn't hold the vehemence they probably should have – given his teeth were chattering. But it was enough to get Vince moving, and fast as he tried not to think about the fact that he'd been caught having a gander.

Throwing the towel over Stuart's head, Vince's tossed the clothing on top of the closed toilet seat and quickly escaped the room - wincing as he slammed rather than shut the door in his haste to leave. Hand pressed over the bulge of his hard-on, Vince closed his eyes for a moment before sucking in a shaky breath and going to find his bag. Another sleepless night ahead….

But for reasons he hadn't yet guessed.

Minutes later, Stuart came back into the room – squinting to see in the darkness. Vince had turned off the lights except for one small table lamp closest to the loo; one that barely passed above the grade of nightlight for all the light it provided. Leaving the door open a crack so he could see his way to the bed without stubbing a toe, Stuart gave the towel over his head one last rub through his now only slightly damp hair – still shivering, despite being fully clothed and the room being a tad warmer than it had been.

Dropping the towel to the floor, Stuart walked around the bed – eyes fixed on the covered lump that was Vince under their blanket. He had to smile at Vince's craftiness, thankful not to have to suffer through waking up to the travesty that had been the bedspread – seen in the shocking light of day. Eww….

Course that wasn't all he was smiling about, finding Vince's attempt at deflection amusing as hell. No way the man was asleep. More like hiding. Not that Stuart was in the mood to let him.

He'd enjoyed the look on his friend's face, Vince's eyes wide and wanting, to let it go. This time.

Sliding under the covers, Stuart immediately cuddled up close against Vince's back. He grinned at the way the other man jerked and then froze again, trying to hold still as Stuart drew him closer and shifted them until they were spooned from head to toe. Throwing an arm over Vince's waist, Stuart nudged him softly with his leg. When Vince didn't say anything, Stuart leaned in to whisper in Vince's ear. "You should have seen it before the water turned cold."

Feeling Vince's muscles tighten like he was about to move away, Stuart tightened his hold and softly laughed. Laughed and wiggled against Vince's bum.

Finally finding his voice, Vince fought not to arch back into Stuart's teasing as he said, "Stuart, behave." He wasn't in the mood for Stuart to be taking the piss at him; his control too thinly held to take much in the face of his body's usual response to Stuart's touch and the new burning of his blood, lit by the image in his mind's eye of the man behind him naked not minutes before….

"Uhm, you're warm," Stuart murmured back. He circled his hand over Vince's cotton covered tummy, inching up the end of the long sleeved tee so he could touch the skin underneath. "Feels nice."

Reaching down with the intent to stop him, Vince instead found himself pressing his hand flat on top of Stuart's own. "Watch it," he whispered – trying for returned teasing as he added, "That way lies danger, Will Robinson," but the grit of emotion colored the words until they came out tinged with both hope and not a little fear. Fear that Stuart would go on; fear that he would stop.

For the longest, Stuart stayed like that – still and thinking, until he decided still thinking was overrated when doing was what he wanted most. And was what he was most good at. One of two things, actually; the other was being with Vince. He was good at that too.

So why not try doing both things well, together?

Circling his hand over Vince's abdomen again, inching neither up nor down, Stuart nuzzled his nose against the bend of his friend's neck – inhaling Vince-scent with a small smile. "'S my middle name, it is. Danger."

Vince opened his eyes, staring into the dark. "No's not, you wanker. That's Alan."

A giggle sounded at Vince's back, the air gusting out over his ear until he shivered – eyes closing again as Stuart answered, "Hardly the point, Vince." Gasping as Stuart used his leverage to pull him sudden back and down, Vince bit back a groan as Stuart slid over him as quick as anything, pressing him down as he murmured to Vince, "But I could tell you how, yeah? To make it yours."

Stuart rose up just enough to make out Vince's face in the ill-lit room, "Ask me how." He shifted about until he'd maneuvered his hips down between Vince's spread legs, loving it as Vince instinctually closed them to hold Stuart against him.

Vince frowned, breath coming faster as he tried to think past the *feel* of Stuart to form words. "Wha… How what?"

Sliding his hands up Vince's arms, Stuart pulled at them until he had the man's wrists pressed to the bed on either side of Vince's head. He rubbed his stubbled cheek against Vince's face, turning at the last minute to breeze a soft barely-there touch of his lips to Vince's own before saying, "How to make *me* yours." Again he moved in to kiss him, pressing into Vince as he mouthed against his friend's lips, "I can tell you, if you want it."

Chasing Stuart's kiss, Vince leaned up only to have the other man evade him at the last. He fell back against the pillow, groaning and pulling at Stuart's grasping hands, trying to free his own – only to have his efforts dashed by Stuart's dirty pool, and sly wiggling hips. "Fucker, how? Tell me."

"Oh, listen to you. You want me," Stuart moaned, grinding his hard-on down over Vince's.

"Stuart! Fucking well *tell* me!" Vince snapped, his control a tattered used-to-be thing.

Moving back, their lips in just this side of a kiss, Stuart gave them both the answer they needed. "Don't stop me; and don't let me stop. Touching you, tasting you. And you, me. No stopping, ever."

Jerking his hands free, Vince grabbed Stuart to him – holding his face as he brought them together with a hiss of air prefacing the way, "Then quit making me wait, you bastard. I'm here, fucking have me." His words carried forth, one man to the other as they kissed – finally, infinitely and inevitably.

It was a mad rush of flailing hands and flying clothes after that, the both of them too desperate to have the other naked to take time for much else. Until they'd flung the last sock and tossed the last shirt to the ground, leaving them rolling, arching and thrusting in a tangle under the blue blanket. Hands roaming, hearts pounding and bodies striving for more, for now, for the eternity of forever in the span of a moment – the moment that would come in a flash, dashing upon them like fire and flame with a pleasure so sweet as to be blinding. And theirs to have again, and again – together at last.

Manhandling Vince back under him, Stuart clutched at his body fiercely – grunting and panting as he worked them together, as he slid and pushed over and against, jerking and moaning as Vince thrust up and tightened the grip of his hands on Stuart's arse, fingers teasing down the crease. Sweating and hot, they were wet with it and it didn't matter. Nothing mattered but…. "Oh fuck, yes." Mouths hungry, lips swollen and used – they kissed and claimed, air a secondary thought until only lightheadedness drove them to break before returning again.

Almost there, almost and then Stuart made almost into an absolutely there as he reached between them and began stroking them off; both men's cocks wet and hot and so fucking hard, it didn't take much. The jerk and twist of his wrist wringing their pleasure from their flesh until with cries bordering on screams, they fell into their new beginning and coated their skin with seed.

Shaking and blitzed on the experience, they sprawled – wallowing in it; content not to move as they stayed wrapped in the warmth of their private place in the world. Ages passed in no time at all, and there they were – Stuart on top of Vince, pillowed down as Vince slowly stroked his hands over Stuart's back and thighs. Idly mapping out the lines of his body without thought.

Until, as only it could considering it was Vince, a thought did come. Vince's voice breaking out, raspy and well-used, "That is the loudest clock on the planet. I mean listen to it! Tick Tick Tick, and no Tock. Where's the tock? How's it a proper clock, if it's lost its tock?"

He would have gone on, but for the hand that was suddenly clapped over his mouth by Stuart, who was shaking again – only this time with laughter. Stuart didn't say anything as he did it, just thought –'thank you.' Thank you for still being a twat, even after. And for this twat, being his.

Still laughing, he drew back his hand and kissed Vince – feeling the other man smiling beneath his lips as he whispered, "Tock, tock, tock. Vince, touch my cock." At which point they both fell to snickering like lads of only half their age, Stuart burying his face at Vince's throat – his new favorite place – mouthing the skin playfully as Vince groaned, fingers lost in the dark curls at the back of Stuart's neck.

And then….

"Oh my god!"

"What?"

"Look at it, Stuart. The time. We missed it."

Stuart looked over at the bedside stand, nothing but a cheap particleboard box really, and caught the glaring blur of red numbers shining in the dark. 12:27 AM

Which meant….

"Blimey, we just fucked in the New Year."

Snorting, Vince nodded – tracing his fingers over the curve of Stuart's ear. Affectionate and fond. "Club full of drunken strangers, counting down while trying not to fall down, with confetti in their beers. Not much to miss, really."

Stuart arched his eyebrow and shook his head, as he teased, "Tensions building, snogging, explosions and yells – don't think we skipped one tradition. Just made it our own."

Grinning back, Vince said, "Well, there is the one." He traced his hands over Stuart's back, resting them possessively on the curves of his bottom as he kissed Stuart softly. Pulling back just enough to catch Stuart's eyes, he asked, "What's your New Year's resolution, Stuart Alan Jones?"

The silence broken only by the loud ticking of the clock, tocking having already been established to be on the outs – Stuart remained still, held by Vince and not saying a word for the longest. Until with one unconscious nod of his head, he brushed back the hair that was sticking to Vince's forehead and pressed a kiss to it. "You are."

The words were gently said, soft and kind – and powerful enough to have Stuart hiding his face once more, his arms hugging Vince tightly, saying everything else he hadn't. That he meant to have him, keep him and maybe even deserve him – this year and for every one that was still left to come.

Chest full, Vince closed his eyes and squeezed back – just as tight. The only words he could find to say escaping on a sigh as he relaxed, finally at ease and confident of the coming dawn. "Sounds good enough for me."

A dawn in which he would look Stuart squarely in the eye, and smile without a doubt.

Each, the other's resolution.

Finis


End file.
